Two of Us
by Professor Maka
Summary: After over a half decade at Shibusen, Soul is finally returning home to attend his brother's wedding, bringing his meister with him for moral support. When a misunderstanding forces Soul and Maka to pretend they are in a different sort of partnership, will it lead to fate or folly?
1. Through the Rabbit Hole

**A/N: This will be a multi-chapter SoMa post-canonverse fic-the premise will be clear soon enough. Thanks to ilarual for being a fantastic reader. And yes, I swiped the title from a Beatles tune. If the song fits, as it were.**

* * *

He looked way too casual for how nervous his wavelength felt, and it set her immediately on edge.

"What?" Maka snapped as he plopped down next to her on the couch, bowl of popcorn in hand.

"Um, you can start the movie now?" Sarcasm, so normal, but the tension still writhed underneath.

"Fine," she said, clicking on the selection for the evening. It was her pick, and seeing as he'd tortured her with some absolutely dreadful action flick last week, she decided to break out the big guns. So tonight, her favorite cheesy romcom _You've Got Mail!_ was on the docket, and the moment it started, she heard her partner groan audibly. Well, next time, maybe he'd think twice before making her sit through the questionable dramatic stylings of Steven Seagal.

"I am _so_ making you watch _Sharknado _next time for this," Soul mumbled as Meg Ryan talked through more of her history. Maka just shrugged.

"Wouldn't be the worst movie you've made me watch. I guess next Friday _Sharknado_ it is."

"Actually," he hedged, and Maka felt the tension in his soul spike. "About that."

"About what? _Sharknado?_ At least it'll be funny. Better than another armbreaking fest."

"Noooo…I mean about next Friday."

Maka's eyes shot to her partner's face. His own eyes were still plastered to the television where Meg Ryan was now typing in an email on a dated desktop using a long defunct ISP, yet she noticed that, in spite of his otherwise casual posture, her scythe was scratching the back of his neck emphatically. Oh yes, Soul was definitely nervous.

"What about it?" she snapped.

"Well, it's just—uhhh—well—my brother called last night."

"Your brother? So you guys are talking? Soul, that's great!" It really was. Maka knew so little about his family, but she had learned that her weapon had an older brother and that he hadn't spoken to any of them since he'd come to school. The scythe meister had never forced the issue, though more recently, in the few years since the final battle on the moon, she had tried to nudge him towards reconciling. Even if Soul would never admit it, she could tell he missed them.

"Yeah, well, it was the first time—uh—in a long time. I mean, I, uh, wrote him a letter once, right after the battle on the moon to—well—to let them know I was alright, I guess, but—" he just shook his head. "Um, anyway. I guess he's—uh—well—getting married, and he called in a lot of favors to finally hunt down my cell number. Apparently, me going back to Evans helped—"

He was rambling in a way she had rarely seen, and his wavelength was erratic, stretched thin with anxiety. She was trying to figure out _why_, because it made no sense. She knew he hadn't always gotten along with his family, but what could his brother have told him to—

"—so he called, and he told me, well, that he's getting married. Next Saturday, actually. And he'd really, uh, like me to come and be the best man. But, um, from my letter, well, he knew I would probably want to bring you, plus he thought—well—he may have misinterpreted things. And—fuck—my family are really uptight and traditional, and he was trying to help, so I guess he kind of sort of told my parents _thatwe'remarried._"

"What was that?" He'd said the last part in a quick jumble and she was positive she must have heard wrong, because it sounded like he'd said—

He took a deep breath. "Wes told my parents _that we're married._"

Maka blinked. Once. Twice. "That's…"

"I _know_!" he groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"You want to go." It wasn't a question.

"_No_," Soul replied vehemently. "But I—I need to go. Wes, fuck Maka, you should have heard him. And the way he talked about my Mom and Dad and everything. So, yeah, I—I really don't want to face it all, you know? But I think—I think I have to."

"So go." She tried to smile reassuringly, all but forgetting the misunderstanding with his brother that had begun this.

"I—" He was scrubbing his hand through his hair, trepidation so thick in his soul he was almost drowning in it. "I mean—will you—please?" He turned his eyes to her, startling in their color as they always were, but this time, the bored mask gone, they were so filled with pleading that her smile faltered.

"You want me to come with you," the meister quietly spoke the words he'd struggled with.

He just nodded.

"Of course," she smiled softly again. "Of course I'll come with you if you want me to. We're partners. You've put up with enough of my Papa's silliness. The least I can do is—"

"Even though…" the scythe cut her off, but then trailed off. He was still wound.

"Even though?" she questioned.

"Well, even if we, uh, have to—um—" Soul was attacking his neck again, his eyes back on the long forgotten movie. She glanced at the film herself, absently noting Tom Hanks being a jerk to Meg Ryan on screen. "I mean," he continued. "Like I said, uh, Wes told them, uh…"

Oh. Oh—she'd forgotten that bit. Maka shrugged casually. "We'll just tell them the truth," she said brightly. "I'm sure—"

"No, no, fuck, no, this is going to be—no, we can't. I mean, Wes already told them, and it'll just—no." His agitation was increasing with every passing second; he was shaking his head to emphasize his refusal, his hand tapping out an unheard symphony on his thigh. His soul felt like he wanted to run screaming from the room, and she could feel the sheer force of will it took him not to do so.

"No?" She was confused. He couldn't possibly be asking, suggesting—no, of course he wouldn't. Would he? But then, his soul…

"Please?" Her weapon's eyes were back on hers, looking almost desperate. "I _know_ this is totally, completely uncool, but you have to understand how my family is—and I told Wes the truth, how it is, and he's probably right, they'll _get_ it better this way. So, uh, if you wouldn't mind—um—playing along." He went scarlet, his eyes darting away from hers to the wall behind her.

Maka had to choke back her own sudden urge to run screaming from the room because this was clearly _difficult_ for him—but how could she do what he asked? To pretend—to pretend that they were—

"Soul, I—" she shook her head.

"Please?" He met her gaze again. "It's just for the weekend—and—and—it won't be that different. Just, just have to play along. We're already partners, right? We already live together and spend most of our time together and stuff and and—It's not—it's not like we have to—it won't be so different, and it's just a weekend, and I swear to Death you can choose the movie for the rest of our lives and I won't leave my boxers on the bathroom floor anymore and I'll never drink from the carton again and I'll do the dishes for a year, or whatever you want, just—fuck—I can't do this alone. Please, Maka?"

She shouldn't say yes, but she couldn't say no. He was right, in a way—it wasn't so different, and yet, it was completely different. To pretend such a thing, to pretend to be together, to be in love, to be _married, _for Shinigami's sake, it would be so hard, so very hard, because one of those things was the truth, and the others never would be, and pretending they were, pretending they were together in a way they never would be, that would _hurt._ And yet—and yet—she wouldn't say no, because she would rather hurt a thousand times more than see him suffer the way she could feel he was suffering now.

"Alright," she said finally, quietly. "But you had better ace the every exam until graduation, and no more bitching about Sunday training on off weeks, fair?"

He breathed out an audible sigh of relief, his entire posture relaxing, deflating, his eyes returning to the television. "Fair. Totally fair."

"Well, then, I guess we're going to a wedding." Her eyes returned to the television as well, and they pretended to finish the movie neither cared to watch any longer in contemplative silence.

* * *

Four days later, they were on a plane to Connecticut. Soul's brother had made it clear that as a part of the wedding party, he was expected to partake of all the pre-wedding preparation and pageantry. For his part, as Maka was well aware, Soul was less than enthusiastic about this, but he had done as he was asked—he hadn't seen his brother in years, and it was only a few days. He was a big boy, he had insisted, he would live. Kid had gladly allowed them the time away from school and other duties; having lost his own father so recently, he felt the importance of family keenly.

Soul's brother, Wes (Maka knew that was his name and that he was some sort of big shot violinist, but that was about all she knew,) had made their travel arrangements, insisting that it was the least he could do since he was "imposing on them," as his message had indicated. First class on a luxury airline, Maka had never been treated so well. The seats were plush and turned into beds, the food was gourmet, and the flight attendant, an overly friendly man named Max, treated them like they were royalty instead of just a couple of kids from Death City. Yes, Soul was "The Last Death Scythe," but while they occasionally attended functions, they were never treated like they walked on water, like they were the most important people to have ever graced the earth. They were treated with a little stunned awe sometimes, maybe, but their every wish was not the command of some trained underling. Meisters and Weapons, that just wasn't how they operated. But here? It was like they were the King and Queen of Shibusen, come to pay court. It was absurd, Maka felt entirely out of place, and she was beginning to fear being a sore thumb during this entire ordeal.

What really flabbergasted her, though, was how bored Soul seemed with it all. Not surprised, not in awe, simply bored. He was polite, he was formal, he was otherwise completely normal and the meister couldn't help but to wonder if maybe he really was some sort of royalty because, for herself, she had been awkward and gaping since they'd first stepped foot into the VIP room to wait for the plane.

But not Soul. Her weapon had spent the flight in the same way he'd spend any other, asleep, listening to music. He woke long enough for the meal (shrimp and filet mignon, it was superb,) he'd taken the (illegally) offered cocktail, but otherwise, he slept and drooled as he would normally sleep and drool. Underlying the bored mask, of course, she could feel nervous anticipation, downright fear really, but the mask was firm, and the fear had nothing to do with their treatment or surroundings, was not about plush seats and gourmet meals. Her own, however, was entirely about plush seats and gourmet meals and not being good enough by half in the eyes of these strange, unknown creatures who were the Evanses.

Still, if the way he had his arm around her, clinging to her almost desperately was any indication, then he was as off as she was. Sure, Maka would cuddle against her weapon when she fell asleep during a flight, and his arm would end up around her, but this time she hadn't slept, yet he had pulled her close all the same. She was interrupted from her thoughts by a soft clearing of the throat from above her. Max, the blonde haired, blue eyed attendant, was standing there, smiling expectantly. She looked up at him, tilting her head in question.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Evans?"

"Uh, no, it's—" she was about to correct him, then shook her head. "I mean, uh, yes?" She couldn't believe it had begun already—they weren't even off the plane yet for Shinigami's sake!

"I am terribly sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Evans, but I was asked to inform you to please remain seated when the plane lands. I will be escorting you and your husband to your waiting car personally—and your luggage will be seen to."

"Um, yes, of course," she stammered out awkwardly.

"You know," he continued, his friendly smile looking genuine for once as he glanced between the two of them. "You two may be young, but you look like a very good couple. You are absolutely adorable together, if you don't mind me saying it. Well!" He stood straighter. "If you need anything, feel free to ring. Enjoy the rest of your flight!"

Maka just gaped after him, shaking her head slightly. They had only been "married" for a few hours, and yet, already this… this… and what could he possibly mean by it? Cute couple? Them? They-they bickered non-stop, and Soul was constantly teasing and snarking at her, and however she might feel, he saw her as his buddy, Black*Star with (very modest) boobs, a great friend, but that's that. She wasn't his type. Shouldn't everyone see through this farce instantly? Surely their acting skills weren't that good-hell, they hadn't even started acting yet! But, if even strangers were reading things between them that would never be there, then this was going to be both easier and harder than Maka had initially believed. Oh yes, it was going to be a long, long week.

The plane landed in New York an hour later, and as Soul finally woke up, bleary eyed, to wipe the drool from his chin, he began to shuffle his things, preparing for the mad battle to exit the plane.

"'Morning sunshine," she grinned at him. "Nice as it is for you to rejoin the world of the living, you probably shouldn't bother with all that—we're supposed to stay on the plane for a bit."

"Wha?" He blinked at her as if she had spoken Latin.

"I guess we're to be escorted to a car and our things taken care of," she offered with a shrug, because it wasn't like she understood it herself, exactly.

"Fuckin' Wes," Soul groaned, palming his face in exasperation. "This is revenge, totally revenge. Asshole." He was mumbling to himself in his palm. Apparently, something about all of this _could_ surprise him.

"Don't sulk," Maka finally interrupted his whining a minute later. "I'm sure your brother was just trying to be helpful, and we aren't going to die because someone carries our luggage around one time."

"Not taking some car," he finally grumbled.

"Huh?" she frowned at him.

"We're not—taking—some car," her weapon insisted, looking up to meet her eyes.

"But—"

"Arranged with Kid to have my bike there. Convinced him we'd take care of a few stray prekishin in the area once the wedding stuff was done. Thought you'd be happy."

"Um, I guess, but…" The plane was nearly empty now, and as the last straggler disembarked, Max approached, clearing his throat.

"Well, then, Mr. and Mrs. Evans, if you'd be so kind as to follow me, I'll take you to—"

"Change of plans," Soul cut him off. "My bike was transported by order of Lord Death himself. See to it that it's unpacked and left for us. You can lead us to _that_ when it's ready, and send our luggage on ahead."

Maka was a little floored by the command in his tone, the bored ease with which he told the attendant what he _would_ do, as if there could be no other option, and she wondered again what she was getting herself into because this was so unlike her Soul... but perhaps it was exactly like Mr. Evans. For his part, the attendant just kept his too bright smile plastered to his face, his overly coiffed hair bouncing as he stood straighter.

"Yes, of course, sir," he replied. "I'll just escort you to the VIP waiting lounge while everything is prepared." Soul nodded and they both rose, Maka grabbing the midsized handbag she had purchased just for the occasion, and Soul merely stuffing his phone and earbuds back into the pocket of his jeans. They followed through the empty jetway, out to a waiting personal transport cart, the type normally reserved for the elderly or handicapped, and were whisked to the lounge to wait. Max finally escorted them to a private suite, complete with luxurious furniture and a small bedroom and bathroom, very much like the one they had left behind in the Vegas airport, before leaving them, the door closing with a soft click. They both sat down on the plush sofa, perhaps a foot apart, Soul plopping heavily.

"Soul—what was that all—"

He shook his head. "The bike makes me feel more like myself. All this—" he waved his hand around in frustration, "makes me feel like a fucking Evans."

"But aren't you?"

"No," he said firmly. "I'm a death scythe. I left this shit behind a long time ago, and I never looked back. Just because—because I'm going to see them doesn't make me one of them, you know?" The bored mask had crumbled and he looked visibly nervous for the first time since the night he'd asked her to come and—well, lie.

Maka shook her head, "I really don't. But I guess I'll take your word for it. Still, I can't believe you wheedled Kid into arranging transport for the bike. And he did it just for us to do a few low level missions?" she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Noooo," he admitted sheepishly. "I agreed to that for you. For him, I had to promise to play at the next DWMA ball."

"Really?" her eyebrows shot up, because while Soul did occasionally play for diplomatic functions, it generally still took some convincing, and aside from Kid's ascension ceremony, he never played for school stuff.

"Really," he said flatly. "I guess he was going to try to make me anyway, something about inviting some witches this year, so he saw it as a win-win. Whatever. At least I got Etta a ride."

Maka just rolled her eyes. She had resigned herself to the fact that Soul's motorcycle was almost akin to his child years ago; he called it baby, kept it cleaner than he kept himself, and had even named it for Shinigami's sake. But the fact he would play for the school to have it close, well, he really _must _be out of sorts.

They were silent for several minutes, Soul flipping through random channels on the too large, too sharp television, Maka keeping her eyes and focus on the e-reader she'd brought along for the journey, a gift from Soul last Christmas. It was impossible to focus amidst the mounting agitation she could feel coming off him in waves, however, so she replaced the reader in her bag and looked up, reaching a hand to squeeze his shoulder. He looked up at her at this, his face again neutral, and she tried to smile reassuringly.

"It's going to be alright, you know? Your brother is obviously eager to see you, and I'm sure your parents—"

Soul just shook his head. "You don't know them. It's—it's only for a few days," he said, voice flat, almost to himself. "I'll be fine."

Before Maka could attempt, again, to reassure him, there was a knock at the door.

"What?" Soul barked.

Max poked his head in. "So sorry to disturb you, but your—ride—has been prepared. I can lead you there whenever you are—"

"Good," Soul cut him off. "'bout time." He shot up, grabbing Maka's hand unexpectedly to haul her after. Before she even thought to protest, they were making their way through the airport, Soul refusing the cart this time in favor of the walk. Minutes later, Max led them to a curb where Etta, Soul's bike, stood, looking as shiny and orange as ever.

"Well, here we are!" Max offered with a bright smile. "Your luggage has been sent ahead in a car as you requested. Will you be needing anything else?"

"N—no, thank you, I th—" Maka began to stammer.

"We're good," Soul cut her off, handing the man some sort of bill.

"Very well, Mr. Evans, Mrs. Evans. Enjoy your stay." With that, the prim young man turned on his heel and returned to the airport. For his part, Soul had already mounted the bike and was looking at his meister expectantly.

"Any day now," he grumbled, zipping up his leather jacket, clearly ready to leave.

"Uh, sure, right, of course…" Maka shook her head and walked the few steps to mount the bike behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, and as they sped through the airport traffic and then away, she pressed herself to his back reflexively. He felt warm and safe and she couldn't help but to think he needed the comfort far more than she did because for the first time in over half a decade, Soul was going home.


	2. Home Again, Home Again

**A/N: Chapter 2 is a-GO. Special thanks, again, to ilarual for being the best beta and putting up with my massive whining—mwah! She really does make this stuff better. If you haven't had the pleasure, go read her stuff for it is fantastic. **

* * *

It was taking too long, that much she was sure of. From what she knew of the local geography, Greenwich couldn't be more than an hour from the airport, yet they had been driving two and were still on the highway. It was starting to get dark, and Maka was getting more than a little concerned.

She squeezed her weapon's arm, trying to get his attention.

"Soul? Are we almost—"

"Can't hear you," he cut her off, yelling back. "Hold on, was about to pull off anyway."

"Oh—Okay!" she yelled back. True to his word, Soul pulled off at the next exit and then, driving only a short way down a four-lane road, pulled into a restaurant parking lot. He craned his back and neck around to look at her.

"Hungry?"

"Uh, I guess? But, um, shouldn't we be at your parent's house by now?"

He got off the bike, offering her a hand to help her off which she took absently. Something wasn't right.

"This place has _the best_ ice cream, seriously. Figured it would be better to eat before we went home, avoid the whole family dinner bullshit for one night." He tugged her into the restaurant, red and white themed, sort of country kitsch meets carnival. Maka thought it looked a bit like a circus and a farm had collided and spilled their insides across the interior. It was definitely on the eye searing side of the spectrum, but then, so was their beloved academy, so she was pretty used to loud kitsch. Soul seemed excited, so she figured it should be decent—he was generally pretty serious about his food.

As soon as they were seated by the same person who happened to be their server for the meal, a matronly woman with gray hair and a ready smile whose nametag declared her to be Madge, Maka turned to her weapon, her tone casual.

"So, where are we anyway? We've been driving for—over two hours, I think."

"Uh, Manchester, I think," he shrugged. Maka had little notion of Connecticut geography—they had only been here once for a mission, and Soul always drove, but she was pretty sure that was far inland and north, whereas Greenwich was just over the border from New York and south.

"And how long will it take to get to your family's house from here?"

"Dunno. Maybe an hour, hour and a half, depends on traffic."

"That—Soul, that doesn't make sense. How can it take over three hours to get from the airport to Greenwich?"

His expression remained neutral, though she could tell he was hedging. "Might have taken the scenic route," he ran a hand through the back of his hair, a tell that he was nervous.

"Why?"

"Uh, just, didn't want to go through the whole family circus tonight, alright? Figured we'd take a little drive, eat a little something, and avoid the show for one night. Don't worry, we'll get to jump through plenty of flaming hoops tomorrow."

Maka sighed. "You could have just told me to begin with. It's your family, Soul. If you want to drive around the entire state before you face them, then fine. I'm here for whatever you need, you should know that."

"Thought you might get pissed and chop me until I agreed to go," he grumbled.

She flashed him a smile. "Nah, I can't chop my fake-husband."

"Why thank you, fake-wife, I appreciate that." The smile he flashed her back was genuine, and she felt the tension drain from him, his soul relaxing. "Now, down to business. Stick with burgers, and definitely get dessert."

"Uh, sure, sounds good," she agreed, and they both began choosing and ordering their dinners.

They didn't eat anything fancy—it wasn't that sort of place. Maka got a patty melt, Soul ordered some monstrosity of a burger, and they capped it off by sharing a massive, multiscoop sundae with some ridiculous mix of toppings at Soul's insistence. She wasn't inclined to argue; if ice cream was his comfort of choice, well, there worse things, and anyway, she liked ice cream. As they ate dessert and reviewed their game plan, so necessary to pull this off, Maka twisted the wrought gold band on her left hand absently, her mother's wedding ring both giving her strength at the same time that it made her feel odd and out of place. She caught the glint of the matching simple gold band on the hand that Soul was currently taking a bite of ice cream with, purchased at a pawn shop to help with this whole ill conceived ruse, and marveled at just how strange yet right it seemed. Not for the first time since he'd slipped it on yesterday, she wished it meant even a fraction of what it pretended to the world, though of course, it didn't, nor would it ever.

"So basically," Soul reiterated for the dozenth time since they'd first planned the trip, waving his spoon for emphasis as they polished off the last of the ice cream. "We just do what we normally do. Maybe a little more touching, if that's-I mean, we decided that's okay. Might have to give you a peck here or there to make it convincing, or you give me a peck. It's-just for show, just for a couple of days, and I'll-hell-I'm going to owe you for the rest of my life, I know that." He had ceased turning quite so red when discussing the nitty gritty of pretending to be married, but he still looked fairly sheepish.

"I think I've got it, Soul. We've only been over it half a dozen times," Maka rolled her eyes. "Try to act the part, and if anyone asks about our marriage, tell them we've been dating since just before everything on the moon, tell them we decided to get married spontaneously on a mission a few months ago-everything else is just tell the truth. And you always tell me I study too much for tests." She shook her head and laughed as his smile became even more sheepish.

"Not a test-it's the fucking final exam and if we fail it means expulsion." She could feel the nervousness creeping back up, so she reached across the table for his free hand.

"Soul?" She smiled softly. "It's going to be fine, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he let out a long breath. "After all, Maka Albarn has never failed a test yet." His face contorted into a grin.

"Damn straight! Let's do this thing!" She grinned back, and with that, they finished their dessert and paid, leaving hand in hand.

An hour after driving up to the restaurant, over stuffed, they remounted the bike. The meister felt decidedly bloated and, as she wrapped her arms back around her weapon, he was also more solid around the middle than he had been an hour ago, but he seemed a mite more relaxed as well, so she figured it was worth the bloat.

Of course, it didn't last. Another hour later, they were nearing their destination and Soul's anxiety was notably spiking again. As they turned off the highway and eventually onto a side road, Maka began to understand why. The neighborhood they found themselves in was nothing short of lavish. The houses were massive and getting bigger as they went, mansions really, and the further in they got, the more land surrounded each property. The meister began to feel like she was entering an episode of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" and suddenly felt very far from home. They finally stopped at the end of a street occupied with a tall stone fence fronted with ornate wrought iron gates. Worked in scrolled writing at the top of the gate was a single word: Evans. Maka swallowed hard as Soul parked the bike and walked up to the intercom button near the gate itself.

The property was so huge that as the meister peered past the gate, she couldn't see the house through the thick hedge of trees. There was a long drive that disappeared into the foliage; anything beyond was a mystery. To not see the house from the road, it must have sat on acres upon acres and Maka suddenly understood much more clearly than she had from the special treatment surrounding the plane trip that the Evanses really were something like royalty, must be. No _wonder_ Soul had been so clueless about all things domestic when they'd first partnered. He'd probably never had to lift so much as a finger for himself before going to Shibusen! But maybe she was judging too soon; she hadn't even seen inside, after all. Perhaps they just had a lot of land. Some people did. And even if their house were huge, it didn't have to mean anything-Gallows Mansion was massive, but Kid was no spoiled brat. Yeah, she was definitely judging too soon...

As Soul had a brief conversation at the intercom, Maka tried very hard not to fidget in her mounting nervousness. It wasn't easy, and became harder still as her weapon's wavelength continued to spike. Probably, they were feeding off of each other's tension. She should try to calm herself. This could do no good. Where was her courage now? If she could face down the Kishin, then surely she could handle one blue blooded family! She took a few deep breaths and straightened her clothes. She felt odd in them, really. They were meant to help her confidence, the dark designer jeans and forest green cashmere sweater. Liz had insisted a new wardrobe was just what she needed, clothes that bespoke her belonging. Maka just felt like a pig in lipstick, only the leather jacket Soul had gifted her with a few years back giving her any sense of herself. Finally removing her helmet, she tried to smooth her hair. Clipped back into a smart rear pony tail, it made her look more adult, but made her feel even less herself. She felt so wrong footed, so unsure, and that wasn't like Maka Albarn, not at all. She should never have agreed to this—and yet—how could she not?

This wasn't helping, and as Soul walked back, the gates opening automatically behind him, she wondered what came next even as she took in a few more breaths. For him, she would be calm.

"Get back on," he mumbled. "Gonna drive up."

The meister complied in silence, remounting behind him though forgoing the helmet, and her weapon drove slowly down the winding path through the trees. Not for the first time this trip, Maka marveled at the sheer number of trees around them; Death City was so relatively barren, smack in the middle of the desert as it was, that the difference was striking. She remembered, long ago, when Soul used to occasionally marvel at the lack of trees in the Nevada landscape. Coming into Connecticut she could understand why. There were trees _everywhere_, so many tall, tall trees that she felt almost claustrophobic. Soul's own house, his parents' _estate_ really, was just the same—it was clearly surrounded by, nestled amidst, a veritable forest. She supposed she'd get used to it, just as Soul had gotten used to the lack. People did tend to adjust.

After a short, slow drive up the stone path, Soul turned off down a fork to the right. This new path, only slightly more narrow, they drove down for only a minute before a stone cottage came into view. It wasn't large, but neither was it small, and it was pretty and quaint. Maka liked it very much and thought that if his parents lived in such a place, then maybe she had fretted for nothing.

Soul stopped at the end of the drive, parking the bike in a square area clearly meant for vehicles, before they both dismounted.

"So this is where you grew up?" Maka said brightly, eying the beautiful little cottage. "It's so cute!"

"Uh," Soul scratched the back of his neck. His nervousness was still rising, though Maka had relaxed a bit. "No, not actually. This is, uh, the guest house. Since we're—well—married and all, Mom and Dad decided we should have some privacy, I guess. They're in bed already, but uh, Wes made sure everything is ready." He gave her an embarrassed smile and she colored. Oh. OH. This was _the guest house?_ Well, crap. Her own nervousness spiked again, and as Soul reached for her hand, she took it gratefully. Maybe she did need the comfort as much as him.

They slowly, carefully walked to the house, Soul slouching too casually, belying the anxiety underneath. Finally, they reached the door, and the very instant the scythe lifted and dropped the ornate little wrought iron knocker onto the weathered, rough hewn wood, the door was flung open as if the occupants had been lying in wait for their signal. In the little doorway stood a man who might have been her weapon's twin. He, too, had stark hair, the same lean build, the same sleepy eyes. Then this must be—

"Little brother!" The man swept forward and Soul's hand was torn from her grasp as he was engulfed in a massive bear hug. The woman who had been standing next to him in the doorway smiled fondly, and as she caught Maka's eye, the meister smiled back shyly. The woman was short, perhaps 5'2", her build stocky and curvy. She had light brown skin, generously freckled, and light green eyes with a decided tilt to them. Her kinky dark blonde hair was styled into a short afro, and she was dressed much like Maka, dark jeans and a pale yellow sweater. The scythe meister wasn't sure who she was, exactly, but her presence was comforting; she had a kind, frank soul.

Maka's eyes moved back to her weapon and his near twin. Soul was being somewhat smothered by his brother, though they were of a height and size. The older man was patting the scythe on the back, loudly offering how good it was to see him, how long it had been, how great it was he came. Soul finally managed to pry him away, though he was grinning when he did.

"It's good to see you too, Wes. Uh—um—" The woman in the doorway stepped forward, lightly touching Wes' elbow.

"Oh, but I'm being rude!" The man's eyes lit on Maka suddenly. "Please, please, come in. You both must be exhausted after the trip."

They were ushered inside and Maka looked around, noting the quaint, cozy decor, before they found themselves sitting together on a loveseat. Seated across from them were Wes and the woman from the doorway. In better light, the meister could see that Wes was not his brother's twin, though their looks were similar. His hair, while stark, was actually a very light blonde, and his eyes were a rich mahogany brown. His chin was slightly more square than his little brother's, and he had perfect, normal teeth. Otherwise, they were identical. Wes' arm was around the woman from the doorway, and Maka found that Soul had mirrored the action. While this wasn't unheard of, it was a little strange in company, but then, they _were_ supposed to be married. That also must mean that the woman was—

"Well, then," Wes beamed at them from across the coffee table. "I suppose that introductions are in order. Perhaps you would do the honors, little brother?"

"Uh, whatever. Maka, Wes, Wes, Maka. And—uh—" He looked to the woman. "I'm Soul."

Wes just shook his head, a fond smile spreading on his face.

"Maka, Soul, this is Aria, my fiancé." The meister had known it was coming, but still, she was a little stunned. She always expected a man like Wes, rich, famous, handsome, would go for some supermodel type, a Blair, a Liz, a Tsubaki, not someone like—like—

Maka felt like a heel. It wasn't that the woman was ugly; actually, she was very pretty, sort of exotic meets girl next door, but her frame, while curvy, was squat. The meister suddenly found herself liking Wes. He had a friendly, accepting sort of soul and his fondness for both his little brother and his fiancé was obvious. What was odd was that she could feel that fondness in his soul extending towards her already, and she couldn't help but to feel a rush of gratitude.

"It's—very nice to finally meet you both," Maka finally managed, her smile genuine.

"You as well, Maka," Aria put in. "I've heard a lot about you, _read_ a lot about you, but it's great to finally meet!"

Soul was characteristically quiet, seeming not to know what to do with himself, so his meister attempted to make conversation for both of them.

"You've—read about me?" She looked confused.

"Of course! Oh, Wes, you should get the book—I'll go, well, we've been rude, actually, it's just so nice to see you after so long. You two must be famished! Can I get you a drink or some food?"

"Uhh—" Soul scratched the back of his head nervously.

"I'd, um, like a drink, and I think Soul would too, but we've already eaten, thank you."

"Ahhh," Wes raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "So _that's_ what took so long, little brother. Your things have been here for hours."

"Wes!" Aria elbowed him lightly in the side. "Be nice! Lemonade okay?" She turned her eyes back to Maka and Soul.

"Uh, yeah, that'd be—great!"

Aria shot up suddenly, moving into the kitchen which was visible in the open floor plan.

"Wes. The book?" She called back and Wes just shrugged apologetically and got up himself to disappear into a back room.

With both out of the room, Soul just shook his head.

"You okay?" Maka asked quietly.

"I think so," another head shake.

"Your brother seems nice."

"He is."

"So does his fiancé."

"Mmmm." He agreed.

Before they could exchange more than those few brief words, Aria came back holding four glasses of lemonade on a tray. She set two down before Soul and Maka, the other two in front of where she and Wes had been seated, and then scurried back into the kitchen to return the tray. Maka took up the lemonade and took a sip-it was delicious, a perfect mix of sweet and tart, but she supposed she should have expected no less from her hosts. A moment later, Wes returned from wherever he had spirited off to, holding a large leather bound scrap book.

As the man plopped the large item into his brother's lap, instead of returning to his seat, he stayed standing behind his brother. Soul's eyebrows shot up in question.

"What—is this?"

"It's a scrap book, little brother. What does it look like?" He was grinning mischievously and Soul looked leery. Extremely leery. He flipped open the cover, and Soul Alastair Evans was written in a neat, even script on the first page.

"Alastair?" Maka asked quietly, unable to suppress the grin creeping onto her face.

"It's our Dad's name," Wes offered before Soul could. "And of course—"

"Shut it, before I start talking about _your_ full name," Soul cut him off.

"Fair point," Wes replied, still leaning over his brother's side of the couch.

For a moment, no one said or did anything, and an awkward silence fell. Unable to stand the discomfort for long, Maka poked Soul in the arm.

"So, are you going to look or not?"

"Maybe," he shrugged.

"Soul," her tone was a warning.

"Fine, fine, whatever," he grumbled, flipping away from the name page. The next page was plastered with baby pictures of a cute, fair haired, mostly bald infant with grey eyes.

"Is that…?" Maka started.

"Sure is—my adorable baby brother," Wes said with a smile. He leaned over Soul to point down at a specific picture of the same baby with wispy hair in a crib smeared all over with brown.

"This—is when he—"

"_DON'T,"_ Soul snapped, but Wes seemed unfazed.

"—decided to finger paint with the contents of his diaper."

"He didn't!" Maka looked up at Soul's brother with a mock gasp.

"He sure did. It was all around his mouth, too. Mom was convinced that he a—"

"Wes," Soul growled in warning. "Name."

"Fine, fine, little brother, I'm done." The older man raised his hand in defeat, though his smile never faltered, and as Maka met his eyes, he winked conspiratorially. Maka giggled. Soul's big brother was—not what she expected, though honestly, she'd had no clue what to expect. He was friendly and personable and completely unlike her weapon and she already liked him very much.

"Can we see more?" Maka asked, nudging Soul again, who grunted but complied, flipping to the page. Next came toddler pictures. Soul, with wild, wispy light blond hair, honey brown eyes, and straight, perfect teeth, riding a little car, playing with clay, pounding the keys of a miniature piano. He looked so happy, so angelic, so care free—the meister thought he was absolutely adorable.

"Awww!" Maka leaned into him further. "You were so cute!"

"Mmm hmm," Wes agreed as Soul said nothing, though the scythe looked uncomfortable. "People used to fawn all over him. He was a sweet little thing, really, even if—"

"Wes," another warning growl.

"Well, anyway, turn the page, there's more!"

On the next two pages, Soul was a child, early elementary age. His eyes were darker here, very like Wes' actually. One picture had two missing front teeth, but then, a slightly older picture showed those missing teeth replaced with two sharp spikes. Several were of him at the piano—recitals, practice, next to a grand piano with a bow on it that appeared to be some sort of gift. He was still adorable, though he seemed to smile less than his toddler self. In some of these pictures, Soul was playing with an older boy with similar light blonde hair and mahogany eyes that Maka could only assume was Wes. He looked happiest in those pictures and the meister smiled to herself. It was clear that the child loved his big brother.

The scythe meister heard a voice above her suddenly. "He really was cute, wasn't he? 'Course, I've gotta say, he grew up pretty fine, too. These Evans boys got themselves some kind of genetics. Guess we caught ourselves some good ones, eh?"

"Uhhh…" Maka colored, not knowing how to respond to Wes' fiancé since she hadn't _caught _herself a damned thing, but Soul's brother must have kept her in the dark about that. "Yeah, um, of course," she managed to stammer out because she didn't know what else to say.

"Well, now you know you guys will make some adorable little babies. Time to hop to it! I want me some cute little nieces and nephews!"

Maka was sure she must be the color of a strawberry just about now and the unfair urge to chop Soul silly had her hand twitching because this wasn't his fault at the same time as it was totally his fault because _why couldn't they just tell the damned truth?_

"We're, uh, kind of young—" the meister began to stammer out.

"I'm teasing, love," she felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. "Your new brother and I will be giving you two nieces and nephews long before, I should hope," her laugh was low and musical and Maka found herself laughing along with her, nervously, but genuinely.

"Oh, right, of course! That would be great—I—I've always wanted to be an aunt!"

Soul cast her a strange look, though he was almost as red as she must be. She shrugged it off, reaching down to turn the page herself, eager to bring the subject away from having kids.

The next two pages featured Soul as a slightly older child. In a few pictures, his hair was an odd mixture of white roots and blond ends before, in the next picture, the blonde was lobbed off, leaving only stark white. His eyes looked more and more red until they were the color she knew, and his teeth, as he lost his baby teeth and gained permanent ones, began to exhibit the sharpness she also knew, though in many pictures he did not smile or smiled faintly with his mouth sealed shut; only when he was caught unawares were his teeth visible. More images of him were with his piano, more showed him performing. He did not look happy.

By the end of these pictures, he looked very much like the Soul she had first met years ago, the Soul who had come to Shibusen to learn to control his innate abilities as a weapon, sarcastic and sullen and antisocial, the boy who would partner with an outgoing, ambitious bookworm. It was the same boy who would abandon Evans for Eater only to take Evans again when he grew comfortable in his own skin. Eventually, he would come to realize that it was just a name—it couldn't change who he was, who he had become. The last picture was of Soul standing with Wes. The older boy had an arm slung around his brother, his smile both proud and sad. Soul's forearm was the scythe blade, black and red and menacing. He was baring his teeth in a shit eating grin; this boy was reveling in his newfound ability, happy to use it to escape. This boy would run, but was running no longer; he had finally come home. Maka found her heart swelling with pride because she knew how hard this was for him, but he had faced it, was facing it.

She sought her weapon's hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, and he squeezed back. His face looked as apathetic as it ever did, but his soul sang a different song, and he was reliving the past vividly, she could feel it in the swirl of his emotions. She turned the page, forcing his eyes away from the past he had fled. What came next surprised them both. The two pages spread before them were full of small newspaper clippings. The first few were older and slightly bigger, several featuring pictures of a young Soul at the piano. They were short articles about the child prodigy, the youngest Evans, set to follow after his brother and his family with his talent. After that came short blurbs without pictures—a monster slain in Albuquerque by Maka Albarn and her scythe weapon, Soul Eater. Another slain by the same pair in Paris, in New York, in Pensacola. There were several pages of such short, pictureless blurbs, before they came to a page with a large color photograph of Maka and Soul sitting on the steps of Shibusen, Soul with his leg a piano, playing. The headline read: Last Death Scythe Plays at Coronation and was followed by the picture and a long article discussing Soul "Eater" Evans, his meister, Maka Albarn, speculation about their role in the battle on the moon (details of which had been kept largely quiet,) and discussion of their importance within the DWMA under the new Lord Death. The last few articles were about more recent missions, or about their occasional diplomatic role. It was all stuff they were aware of, things they knew were out there. What was new was the fact that Soul's brother had been following their exploits seemingly from the beginning.

"You—" Soul seemed stunned, was shaking his head. "You—where did you—from the beginning? How?"

The sentiments were half spoken, but Wes seemed to get the gist.

"How many scythe weapons named Soul can there possibly be?" The older Evans smiled. "Though I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised you went with Eater," he laughed. "It fits."

"I—" Soul was shaking his head again.

Wes squeezed his brother's shoulder, then walked back to his seat across from him, Aria following suit. The older man had a proud smile on his face, and his fiancé was looking between him and his brother fondly, before finally settling her keen gaze on Soul.

"He's followed every step, you know. Didn't want to bother you if you didn't want to be bothered, but he's always wanted to know how you were, so he found out how he could. We were friends back then, met our second year at Julliard, and he always talked about you even then, his little brother the scythe, the hero. When you sent that letter a few years back you should have seen how happy he was, but then, you never called. You never wrote again. You just—"

"Aria—" Wes said quietly, his tone unhappy.

"He didn't want to bother you," she cut him off, squeezing his hand. "He wanted you to come home when you were ready, to seek him when you were ready, but he always looked out for you. And then we were going to get married and I knew how much he wanted you to be there so I told him he should call you—screw waiting for ready. Took a little badgering," she grinned at this and Wes smiled back at her ruefully.

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot of badgering, but he finally saw things my way, and you came. So thanks for that. It means the world to us." Her smile was genuine as she looked at Soul. "I really am glad to finally meet you."

"I—" Soul was still at a loss for words.

"And thanks to you, too," Aria smiled softly at Maka. "I have a feeling we have you to thank for this as much as anything."

"No," Maka shook her head in protest. "No, not at all. Soul wanted to come, he really did. We both did."

Silence fell for several moments, no one seeming to know what to say after. Finally, Aria broke the silence again.

"But we are being rude, aren't we? You two must be exhausted and we're keeping you up! We should probably get back. Busy day tomorrow, you know!"

"Uh, you don't have to—" Maka began, but Aria had already pulled Wes up and was dragging her somewhat reluctant seeming fiancé to the door. Maka took the cue to drag Soul up to follow.

"Well," Wes turned around with Aria at the doorway, his smile broad and genuine. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Maka. I must say, my little brother may not be able to dress himself to save his life," he eyed the scythe's jeans, band t-shirt, and leather jacket combo with mock distaste, a sharp contrast to the older man's dark jeans and light blue button up, "but he has excellent taste in women. He's a lucky man." He took her hand and shook it warmly, then winked at her again. Maka wanted to groan but stifled it. She liked Wes so far, but the man could really ham it up, another thing that was far different from his brother. Aria then looked to both of them.

"I'm really happy to see you both. You," she grinned at Soul, "are almost as handsome as your big brother," she surprised him by pulling him into a hug, which he returned stiffly. "And you," she smiled at Maka, "are simply adorable. I'm going to enjoy being sisters." She pulled the meister into a hug as well, one Maka returned warmly because she was really starting to like this odd, frank, kind little woman.

"Well, then, you'll want us out of your hair," Wes cut in as the hug broke off. "Mom and Dad expect us all for a family breakfast bright and early!"

"How early?" Soul groaned.

"Seven," Wes offered almost apologetically. Soul just groaned louder.

"So, goodnight you two. Don't stay up too late. I know how newlyweds can be, but it really is going to be a long day tomorrow." Maka went red and Wes tossed her a knowing smile. Yeah, he was definitely enjoying this.

"But why aren't you staying here?" she asked.

Wes' smile widened. "We decided to move up to the main house to make sure you two would have some privacy. After all, you are married."

Soul just shook his head at his brother. "I _so_ owe you," he grumbled.

"I look forward to the payment, little brother," Wes grinned, ruffling his hair, which had the younger man grumbling.

"Ugh, I'm not ten anymore!"

"And yet, you'll always be my kid brother," Wes' laughed and startled Soul by attacking him with a brief hug. "It _is_ good to have you home," the older man said quietly.

The hug lasted another moment and, just as it was breaking off, Soul said even more quietly, "it's good to be home."

If the sudden feeling of affection and contentment in his soul was any indication, then Maka was sure he actually meant it.


	3. The Breakfast Club

**A/N: Another ridiculously loud shout out goes to ilarual for betaing this. This chapter would suck major goat balls without her patience and fantastic input.**

* * *

Maka awoke with a start to a wet cheek and bolted upright, her face bashing into Soul's, who had decided to use her head as a pillow.

"Ow!" he complained loudly, sitting up himself and rubbing his cheek as he eyed her ruefully.

"_You drooled on me!_" she accused with some mix of disgust and horror, scrubbing at her own cheek unhappily.

"Oh, uh, sorry—'bout that." Rueful morphed to sheepish and he tugged the cover to offer to her, reddening. She took it and scrubbed at her face, shaking her head but not bothering to respond otherwise. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. They shared a bed sometimes, had for a long time now. On missions when they had no choice. When one of them had a nightmare. After a particularly grueling fight. It wasn't a nightly thing, but it wasn't unheard of either, so when Soul had mentioned the fact that they'd have to share a bed or it would look _very_ suspicious to the help, something Wes had emphasized to him a few times in their exchanges, well, that wasn't so hard; this part of pretending to be married, at least, was par for the course. Didn't mean the expectation of others that they would be doing much more than just _sleeping_ didn't give her goosebumps she'd rather not delve too deeply into. She _knew_ what they meant, and she would much rather not think about it with her weapon still half naked next to her in bed, his sleep pants tugged too low and his toned tanned chest on glorious display. Tearing her thoughts away from where they most certainly did not need to be lingering, now or ever, she yawned and stretched before asking.

"What time is it?"

Soul raised his bare wrist to his eyes and squinted. "Freckle past a hair?"

"You are _so _lame sometimes, you know that?" the meister said, smacking him with a pillow.

"Nuh uh. I'm the coolest guy you know. Admit it," he grinned at her before leaning back and over towards the nightstand to grab his phone.

"Sometimes. When you aren't being a complete dork."

"Thought that was your job?" His grin widened as he sat back up.

Her only response was another pillow to the face.

"You wanna go, Albarn?" He grabbed the pillow and brandished it in mock menace before slamming it over her head.

"Oh, you are SO dead!" She grabbed a different pillow and went on the offensive, slamming him upside the head twice before scrambling away.

Total chaos ensued, and ten minutes later, giggling and out of breath, she was straddling him and tickling his sensitive sides while he flailed wildly underneath her before finally, breathily crying; "Uncle! Fuck, uncle!"

"That's what I thought." She grinned down at him and he just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, big shock, the meister wins. What's new? Now, as nice at it is to have my little wifey on top of me," Soul waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Maka felt herself go scarlet, "we should probably get up and dressed. Was 6:30 when I checked and my parents get really cranky when people are late."

She scrambled off of him, embarrassed, and began to hunt through the wardrobe—their suitcases had already been unpacked for them when they arrived, much to her astonishment and mild annoyance that strangers were _touching her unmentionables. _After hunting for a few moments for something suitable to wear, she settled on a dark skirt and soft red sweater that Liz had assured her made her look sophisticated. Grabbing some of those said unmentionables as well, Maka hurried into the en suite bathroom to change, calling back to her weapon "you change in there, I won't come out 'till you say."

"'Cause married people change in separate rooms _all the time._" The scythe called back, his tone teasing.

"Shut it, _dear_."

His response was to chuckle, but she could hear the shuffling of clothes on the other side of the door and figured he was taking her seriously.

The red sweater fit like a glove, and the swishy knee length black skirt was pretty and girly. With her hair down and some intricate scrollwork silver barrettes holding up either side, she really did look—well—maybe not sophisticated, but not like herself, either. More like a little girl playing dress up. As Maka peered at her reflection in the full length mirror skeptically, she longed for the confidence that her Spartoi uniform would bring her, the sense of command, the sense of _self, _knowing that the outfit, so tantalizingly close in the wardrobe, would spell disaster for people like the Evanses. Part of her wanted to just say to hell with it and wear it anyway. They were bound to see her as not good enough for their son, weren't they? To look down on the mousy little meister who had stolen him away? She may as well give them reason and get it over with.

But no-no. She was feeding off of Soul's newly rising nervousness in the other room, the renewed sense of turmoil in his wavelength, prejudging, prefearing. She was Maka Albarn. She would face this and she would win—she would protect her weapon from his whole damned family if that was what it took, but she was going to do it with her head held high. If wearing some designer clothes would smooth the path, well, she'd done sillier things. She could do this, too. Smoothing on some lightly colored lip gloss and taking a last glance at the mirror, Maka called out to her weapon "you ready yet?" and at his muffled "yeah," she opened the door. Unlike the t-shirt and jeans combo from last night, Soul had chosen slacks and a plain white button up.

His meister smiled at him. "You look good."

He looked her up and down. "Well, you look—like a dork—but that's inevitable."

She strode over and punched him in the arm. "Is that any way to talk to your _wife?_" she grumbled.

"Oh, shut it. You look beautiful and you know it. Not like you need me to stroke your ego, _darling._" He smiled at her, a bit too soft, a bit too fond for the words. She colored and grabbed his arm roughly, sweeping her new designer purse up from a chair in her other arm.

"Come on, we'll be late if we don't hurry."

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned but followed after her, mostly because she was tugging him along, leaving him with little choice. She could feel the nervousness he'd hidden beneath their banter resurface full force as they left the little cottage and began to walk down the path they had driven last night. His soul was a mess and Maka slid her hand down from his arm to grasp his, squeezing it comfortingly.

"It's going to be fine. I'm right here, okay?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know. Thanks. For coming. And for whatever bullshit you're about to deal with."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Soul." She smiled reassuringly, but he just shook his head.

"Tell me that _after_ you meet them," he grumbled. They'd reached the fork in the path they'd taken last night and Soul steered them to the part they'd yet to travel, the walk pleasant in the late spring morning, cool without being cold, the trees spread above them giving them a feeling of close seclusion. They continued to walk the path in nervous silence, Maka not knowing what else to say, and Soul clearly inclined to stew in his own mounting trepidation. It was exponentially worse than last night, and the meister felt her own stomach drop as the path finally opened out into a large, circular drive and what looked more like a palace than a house rose before them like some sort of majestic beast wrought of stone and wood. The house was _massive_, old and beautiful and utterly intimidating. It made Gallow's Manor look like a McMansion, and Maka suddenly wanted to run as much as she could feel the urge rising within her weapon because _how could she face people who thought of that as home?_ She wondered how Soul had ever thought of that as his home and squeezed his hand again, more for her own need for comfort than to soothe him, though the action seemed to do both.

When they arrived at the door, Soul rang the bell; Maka saw this as odd, seeing as it was his parent's house and they were staying on premises, but she figured he knew what he was doing. A moment later, a middle aged woman in a plain grey dress with her brown-grey hair put up into a tight, no nonsense bun appeared. She smiled warmly as she looked between the two, then opened the door wider.

"Young Master Evans!" she declared warmly, "your parents await your presence in the summer breakfast room. I will see you there at once."

With that declaration, she moved out of the way, and Soul pulled them both into the house. The woman led them back through the grand entrance hall and a smaller hallway through an open set of double doors. She motioned them inside, taking Maka's purse to hand to the young woman in grey standing just inside, before bustling off and away.

Inside was a light, bright room, lavishly decorated in some sort of highly detailed, pale pink wallpaper, with gilded furniture and mirrors, silk upholstered chairs, and a large, mirror bright table in the center. It was both light and airy at the same time it was absolutely sumptuous. The table was set with precision, elegant pastel china, sparkling crystal, and shiny silver. Standing off to the side, next to a large buffet table laden with covered dishes, was a young woman, also dressed in grey, her hair similarly up in a tight bun, while seated at the table were a middle aged couple. The man and woman, seeming impossibly elegant, immediately rose, the woman smiling warmly towards them where the man wore a neutral, almost bored expression that Maka recognized from years of partnership with his son. In fact, Soul looked much like a younger, oddly colored version of his father. They had the same tall, thin build, the same downturned shape to their eyes, the same aristocratic nose, but the older man's eyes were a pale, watery blue and his thin hair was fair like his older son's, just touched with grey at the temples. The scythe had gotten his sharp chin and, she suspected, luxuriant hair from his mother. The woman had auburn tresses coiffed into a loose, stylish bun, though the strands that hung strategically out were thick and wavy. There wasn't a spot of grey on her hair, and her eyes were the same mahogany that Maka had seen last night on Soul's older brother. While they did not radiate the warmth her son's had, they were nonetheless welcoming.

"Soul!" The woman exclaimed, her warm, rich voice conveying her enthusiasm. "It's so good to see you!"

"Mom. Dad." Soul responded with a slight nod in their direction, his tone flat. For a moment, the four of them stood there in a loaded silence that was becoming increasingly awkward for Maka, before his father cleared his throat.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to introduce us," the older man said, his deep, elegant voice tinged with annoyance. It was Soul's tone without his cadence, and Maka found it odd and unsettling.

"Uh, yeah, of course. Sorry. Maka, this is Sophia and Alastair Evans, my parents. Mom, Dad, this is Maka, my mei—wife." The recovery was not smooth, but it was made, and Maka felt anxiety and relief almost equally.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Maka," Soul's father said with a practiced smile that did not reach his eyes.

"It's—very nice to meet you both as well," Maka managed, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Why were these people making her so nervous? Perhaps it was that bull in a china shop feeling that had washed over her the instant she saw the house, only increasing when she'd stepped inside.

"Please, do sit," the man motioned to a few chairs close to where they'd been seated before. "We can discuss matters further over breakfast."

The idea that they might have "matters" to discuss was odd and made the meister uneasy. If the spike within his troubled soul was any indication, her weapon felt this as keenly as she did, but nonetheless, he squeezed her hand softly, still intertwined with his, then pulled her to their seats. He surprised her by pulling out her chair and making sure she was settled before sitting himself, an action that both annoyed and endeared her.

For the next several minutes, they were served, offered choices of eggs (benedict, omelets, there were several options,) meats, pastries, and fruits from the covered dishes on the table by the two grey clad young women. It was odd and uncomfortable for Maka, to have a family breakfast attended by _servants_. Even Kid, the current Shinigami, only employed a cook, as well as a maid who came in three times a week, and then, only because he was too busy to see to such things and he feared to have his house burned down if he allowed his weapons to see to them for him. It seemed ludicrous to her, the idea that two people were dedicated to the task of serving four people breakfast. And why were there only four, for that matter? Shouldn't Wes and Aria be here too? That might have made this a little less… strange, awkward, formal, and absolutely strained.

After opting for eggs benedict and a variety of fruit, Maka began to eat. Two bites in, her musings were interrupted by the rich voice of Sophia Evans.

"So, Soul," the meister looked up and noticed her smile was back in place. "I was wondering if you'd mind telling us what you've been up to. It's been—well—we've clearly missed a lot. Congratulations, by the way, your wife is lovely. Welcome to the family, Maka."

Maka offered a faint smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Evans."

"Oh, please, do call me Sophia," she waved a hand dismissively. "No need to be so formal among family!"

"Um, thank you then, S—Sophia." The name felt strange on her tongue.

"Of course, dear. I'll admit, we were surprised to hear that our little Soul was married—your two are so young—but I can see why he would have acted so hastily where you're concerned. Which reminds me—" the older woman swept her gaze over Maka's visible half "—you simply _must_ let me loan you my stylist. Jean Luc is positively fabulous, and I know how dreadfully difficult it must be to keep up out in Death City with all the latest out of New York and Paris. He'll have you looking like a high fashionista in one sitting, I promise! And, of course, anything he wishes to acquire will be our treat. It seems only right to pamper our new daughter, after all."

"Um, thanks?" Maka forced a smile. Did she look so terrible? She hazarded a glance down at her sweater self consciously. She'd thought she looked passable this morning, and Liz had helped her so carefully, but maybe—

"Maka's fine as she is, Mom," Soul kept his voice level, but she could feel the annoyance beneath.

"Of course, sweetie, but no girl doesn't want a makeover with a world renowned stylist! I'll send him over later this afternoon, when—"

"I said—" Soul sounded angry. His meister put a hand on his thigh under the table and squeezed a bit hard, causing him to flinch slightly, before moving that same hand to touch his upper arm in show.

"It's fine, _sweetie," _she smiled at him with light amusement at echoing his mother's use of the pet name, then at his mother. "That's very kind of you, Sophia, thank you. I look forward to it." Maka didn't sense any ill intent in his mother's wavelength, and this wasn't worth a blow up over breakfast when Soul hadn't seen his family in so long. She could handle some silly make over for him; she had handled far more before.

Soul shrugged slightly and continued to eat his breakfast, his table manners suddenly impeccable. She was so used to him shoveling his food in like a starving animal she almost wanted to stare at him as he ate in wonder, but of course, that would have been downright rude and definitely strange, so she just took another bite of her food as Sophia spoke again.

"_Perfect_. You're going to love Jean Luc. Now, Soul? I was wondering if you might share more about what you do. Maka is your—oh what did Wes call it? Master?"

"Meister," Alastair Evans offered. He had been quiet until then, watching in silence as he carefully ate his breakfast, the aura of bored disapproval surrounding him mounting with every moment that passed.

"Ah, yes, _meister,_ thank you dear. Wes has told us things about what you've been up to, of course he has, and I try to help him with his little book by having the staff on the lookout for relevant material, but I'd love to hear it from you. It all sounds so," she waved her hand in a gesture that appeared at once emphatic and dismissive, "exciting."

Soul just shook his head. "It's been seven years, Mom. I need you to be a little more specific." Maka almost kicked him under the table, but decided against it. His soul was clearly in chaos. Should she speak for them? She just didn't know what was okay, what was expected.

"Your mother is trying to talk to you. I can see you haven't learned any better manners in your time away, son. Perhaps you might start with that battle that was all over the news—I believe that's what your mother was hinting at. The DWMA was characteristically close lipped, but the rumors suggest you were there. Were you?"

"Yeah, Dad, we were there." Soul answered quietly.

"And?"

"And what? We fought the fucking—"

"Soul! Such language!" his mother interrupted.

"Sorry, Mom. Freaking. That better?"

"Not really," his mother shook her head unhappily.

"Whatever. We fought the Kishin. He almost killed us and all our friends. The only reason we're still around is because a good friend sacrificed for us, for everyone—Crona's the only reason you can still live this perfect little life. Crona, and everyone at the DWMA, including me and Maka."

"Yes, well, Shibusen serves its purpose, I'm sure, but I've also heard that the accounts of the battle on the moon were highly—exaggerated—to allow the new Shinigami to consolidate his power over the nations of the world," Alastair Evans' tone was still decidedly bored, but his words belied the tone.

Suddenly, Maka wanted to scream at him. People had been hurt, _people had died_, they had all almost died—and Crona—and this—this—

He felt Soul grab her thigh and squeeze comfortingly, felt his wavelength reach out to hers, to console her, soothe her, even as he spoke quietly.

"Bullshit."

"I don't know what type of manners they tolerate at the DWMA, but while in our home, you will act as the gentleman you were bred to be. Which brings us to the real point. You will be graduating soon, yes?"

"Yeah, so?" Soul's irritation with Alastair continued to mount, but his face never wavered, his disinterested mask of boredom very much like the one sported by his father.

"I think it's high time we discussed your post-graduation plans." Alastair's gaze on Soul was suddenly less bored, more focused.

"Maka and I are planning to continue at Shibusen, enroll in some post grad classes, continue to take high level missions. Eventually, I'll probably take a death scythe post, not that it's really any of your damned business."

"I hardly think Shibusen an appropriate career choice for an Evans. Surely you must realize that. No, the President of Juilliard is an old friend and I've already spoken with him. We'll arrange placement for you-I'm sure with some intensive practice, you'll be able to meet their standards; your skills couldn't have slipped _that_ far. And, of course, we'll see to Maka's placement as well. After all, she is an Evans now, too."

Soul snorted. "You're fuc-freaking delusional. Maka doesn't play an instrument, and after seven years without so much as a how the hell are you, I'm pretty damned sure you don't get a say in my 'post-graduation plans.' I don't wanna be a musician, don't need to be a damned musician because, in case you missed the memo, I'm the _Last Fucking Death Scythe._"

Soul's father, his face stern, waved a dismissive hand. "That's entirely irrelevant. Juilliard has _always_ been your goal, and you will attain it."

"Like hell I will."

"Of course you will. I've already set up an audition for you next month. It's a formality, of course, but a good showing is still important. I've arranged for the best Piano tutor on the west coast to spend some time in Death City-"

Soul was gritting his teeth by this point and looked ready to pounce, his soul torn between a fight or flight response. Sophia must have seen it, too, because she cut off her husband, who appeared nothing short of shocked at the interruption.

"Alastair," she put one hand on his arm. "Soul has only just come home. If this is a topic that upsets him, perhaps we might choose another and save this discussion for later?" She sounded almost pleading, and Alastair sighed.

"Of course. We'll speak of this another time, then." The pointed look he offered his son held an edge of promise. "If you won't entertain the thought of your future, perhaps you would at least be willing to speak of how your music is coming along?" The man's gaze was flat again, but Maka could feel the disappointment in his soul.

"Oh, yes!" Sophia brightened. "I saw the article about the coronation of the new Shinigami! There was a picture of you playing—well—piano, I suppose, right on the front page."

"Oh, he did play," Maka responded just as brightly, attempting to ease the tension because she was feeling more and more like she might Maka chop Soul's dad, and that couldn't lead to anything good. "He was brilliant, but then, Soul's always played so beautifully! His music is really important to what we do, too. Without it, we would have been killed many times over by now."

She was trying to show Soul's dad how important music still was to his son, but she realized, too late, what a sobering thought she had introduced, and Sophia looked a bit stunned for a moment before recovering to steer the conversation in a more genial direction.

"That piano you were playing at the coronation was really something, though," Sophia's enthusiasm was forced, but she sallied forth nonetheless. "Is it—did it really come out of your leg?"

"It's part of what I can do as a death scythe," Soul shrugged. His voice was casual again, almost bored, but she could feel the small kernel of pride, tiny beneath all the turmoil; still, it made her want to smile at how far he had come.

"But that's fantastic!" Sophia clapped her hands together in her enthusiasm. "You must show us later, dear. I'm sure we would all—"

"I'm sure that our son sprouting a lethal _weapon_ in the house would be unseemly, dear," Alastair said quietly before she could finish.

"Oh—I suppose," she looked unhappy.

"But perhaps he would be willing to play for us on a more conventional instrument. I'm sure we'd all like to see how his music skills have—progressed—in his time away."

Soul's fist clenched under the table, anger at his father's dogged pursuit of the topic mounting again, and Maka grabbed his hand with her own, radiating comfort, seeking his soul and soothing it as he had done for her earlier. The man was unrelenting. The scythe calmed at his meister's efforts, and before more could be said, the doors opened and Aria and Wes appeared, Aria laughing, and both of them looking rather flushed.

Wes strode over to take a seat, Aria in tow, pulling a chair out for her and sitting down himself.

"Sorry we're so late—we had a bit of an—issue—to handle. We haven't missed anything important, I hope?"

Sophia tilted her head. "I do hope everything's alright?"

"Oh, fine mother, fine." Wes waved away her concern.

Alastair looked annoyed as he leveled his gaze on his eldest son, but said nothing.

The rest of breakfast was filled with idle chatter, mostly among Aria, Wes, and Sophia, with occasional input from Maka when a question came her way, and even more infrequent participation from Soul. By the end of the meal, the mood in the room was considerably lighter, and Maka found her genuine like for the bride and groom to be growing exponentially.

As everyone rose from breakfast, Alastair left claiming business to be handled, while Maka and Soul were cornered by the remaining members of the group.

"So, I hope you two lovebirds don't mind, but we're going to need to separate you for the time being," Wes said with a wide smile.

"Why?" Soul's utterance of the word was laced with heavy suspicion.

"Well, you, little brother, will be coming along with myself and the other groomsmen for a fitting, and Aria and I thought it might do better for Maka to accompany the ladies for their own final fitting, give her a chance to bond with her new sister and mother, that sort of thing," he waved his hand emphatically, his smile suspiciously wide. "If, that is, it's fine with your _wife._" He turned to her expectantly, ignoring Soul's glare.

"I—I mean—I guess I could, that is—" Maka stammered, feeling like a fish about to be pulled from the water and left to suffocate on the shore.

"Perfect!" Aria said happily, taking her hand. "I've been dying for some alone time with my new sister. Are you still meeting us later, Sophia?"

The older woman nodded. "I need to run a few errands first, but I should be at the salon on time."

"Wonderful! We'll see you then!" And with that, Maka found herself being dragged to the other woman's car and whisked away, Soul left mouth gaping in her wake, feeling like the other shoe was just about to drop.


	4. Cinderella Dressed in Yellow

**A/N: Sorry this update took a bit-I struggled with this chapter. Thanks to rebornfromash and ilarual for being awesome readers.**

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As she closed the passenger door of the small Honda sedan behind her, she was surprised by how normal it was, this little red car amidst such stately grandeur. If her companion had ever been similarly struck, she did not show it now, simply sliding her seatbelt on and her key in the ignition before driving away.

Maka sighed with relief, glad to be out of that house and away from those people for the moment, though as she did, guilt washed through her. What right did she have to feel relief when she was here for him? Later she would have to make sure he was really okay after all that, but for now she couldn't. She didn't feel any particular turmoil in his soul as they'd parted, so she figured he was probably alright for the time being.

They were to the gate shortly, which was opened for them automatically, and driving through the same neighborhood full of ridiculously lavish houses she and Soul had arrived in just the night before. Aria flipped on the radio, plugging in her phone to put on some smooth Jazz that Maka was fairly certain Soul would recognize, but that she didn't. The driver adjusted the volume for a moment, setting it to ideal background noise level, before briefly turning her eyes away from the road and to her passenger.

"So, Maka," she began, her voice suspiciously casual for all the curious energy the meister could sense in the other woman's soul. "What's it like, being married?"

"Uhhhh," the meister fidgeted with the slick designer purse in her lap because how the heck would she know? She supposed being partners and roommates was much like being married, minus the whole romance and sex part, and decided to just pull from that experience.

"It's nice, most days. I mean, you met Soul. He can be snarky and difficult, but underneath it all, he cares, he's always there when I need him, and-um-mostly, he doesn't give me reason to want to chop him anymore. At least, not often."

"Chop him?" Aria looked a bit confused.

"Oh, um, well." That had been stupid. Too much truth, way too much truth. "What I mean to say is, he doesn't make me want to kill him often?"

"Oh!" Aria laughed, and the sound was warm and musical and comforting. "Well, that's definitely true love, then. And anyway, on those days you _do_ want to kill him, there are much _better _ways to work through that anger, if you know what I mean." Maka wasn't sure what she meant, actually, but the knowing tone worried her.

"Well, I _do_ sometimes drag him out for extra training when he's being particularly difficult."

The other woman laughed again, louder. "Is that what they call it down at the DWMA?"

The meister frowned, puzzled. "What else would you call it? I mean, I know you guys don't train exactly, but you are musicians, you practice right? It's like that. Extra practice."

"Oh honey," the woman next to her grinned. "We know all about 'extra practice.' Wonder if your boy is as talented as mine is-that run in the family, too?" The woman turned to Maka and waggled her eyebrows and suddenly, the meister went scarlet because she finally got exactly what her weapon's sister-in-law to be was getting at.

"Oh, uh, er…" she stammered, confused and embarrassed and having absolutely no clue how to answer because _how would she know?_ Only, she was _supposed_ to know and was this what sister-in-laws talked about? But she supposed it probably was if her experience with Liz was anything to go by, because the older weapon was constantly talking about her love life in the most mortifyingly graphic way possibly. So she improvised. "He's, uh, a really good pianist," she finally managed.

"I'll just bet," Aria laughed again. "Talented fingers and all that, don't I know it."

Maka was flaming; she could feel the heat, the shame, spread from her face down all the way down past her toes. Fortunately, Aria became quiet for a bit as they made it to the Interstate entrance and merging along with lane changes stole her focus. For her part, Maka was able to calm herself as she watched the greenery stream by at breakneck speeds-Aria clearly enjoyed driving _fast_-and, more collected than before, decided to try to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable topic of sex. Because while she might be curious, interested even, in knowing what that would be like with her weapon, she had no experience to draw on and, after awhile, it would surely show. Eventually, the driver settled into a lane and was at leisure to talk again.

"So, Maka," Aria began, suddenly serious. "I'm glad you agreed to come with me-not just because I'd been hoping for some time to bond with my new sister, but because I had a question for you. If you decide to refuse, I'll understand, I promise, but it would mean a lot to me if you said yes."

"Um, okay, what is it you need?" Maka asked nervously. She liked Aria, even if the other woman seemed hell bent on causing her death by mortification this morning, but she didn't _know _her, and so, wondered what she could possibly want that had her so cautious.

"I was hoping you'd agree to be one of my bridesmaids. I _know_ it's short notice, but since we're going to be family and since your husband is the best man, Wes and I both thought it would be fantastic to have you in the wedding as well. I don't have any sisters of my own, so I'd love to feel like I had one with me."

Maka was floored by the request. Why would she want _her?_ They barely knew each other and she wasn't really-wasn't really what Aria thought she was, and Wes _knew_ that so why would he help with this? But she could sense how genuinely the other woman meant it in her soul and didn't know what to do because she didn't belong there, didn't belong as a part of this, and yet, how could she refuse? She _wished_ she belonged, that she was what she now pretended to be, but she wasn't, nor would she ever be, and the pain of that rose to the surface unbidden. She choked it down because _now was not the time_ and snapped her jaw closed before shaking her head.

"I-it's just-" she tried to answer, still not knowing what to say. "It's-Oh!" A thought came to her and she grasped at it like a lifeline. "I mean, I don't have a dress for that, and surely-"

"That's no problem," the other woman waved a hand dismissively, taking it off the wheel and making the meister yet more uncomfortable. "The designer is a friend of mine. She said she should have a sample right at your size and she can do alterations based on your measurements in time for the wedding."

"Oh, um, that's good, I guess. But won't people find it-strange-since we just met and all?" She was fishing, but she didn't know what else to do.

Aria actually laughed. "They'd find it more strange if the groom's sister-in-law _weren't _in the wedding party in the circle the Evanses move in, to be honest, though that's not why I'm asking. Sophia suggested it days ago when she found out about you and Soul, then after I met you, I decided I _wanted_ you there." The smile the bride-to-be flashed was soft and full of genuine affection, but as she glanced at her companion, she frowned, seeming to realize the meister's discomfort, "But really, Maka, I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with, so-" Feeling the disappointment begin to flood the other woman's soul, Maka shook her head again.

"No, it's okay, I'll, um, I'll do it. If you want."

"Fantastic!" The other woman practically squealed in her excitement. "You won't regret it, I promise."

The fact that Maka already was notwithstanding, because this would put her 'marriage' with Soul even more front and center, she just smiled back as they finally pulled into a space in front of a small shop. It was called "Precious" and until they actually got out of the car and stepped inside, Maka wasn't sure what they sold but, upon looking around to see everything from jewelry to picture frames inside, she thought it might be some type of gift shop. Apparently, the bride had a few errands to run before heading to the salon which was perfectly fine by her. Maka hung back, looking at some of the silver plated wares on a small table absently as Aria talked quietly with a clerk.

Maka's thoughts were on her weapon, wondering if he was really okay after their tense breakfast with his parents and how his own day with his brother would go when she heard the shop bell ring, indicating a new customer had come in through the door. Lifting her eyes automatically at the sound, she was surprised to see the tall blonde man enter followed closely by a head of stark white-Wes and Soul.

"What...?" She began but Wes just waved a greeting and stalked over to his fiance, sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her soundly. Aria didn't have time to be surprised and Maka quickly averted her eyes at the display to find her weapon standing before her.

"What are you doing here?" She tried again.

He look decidedly uncomfortable as he mumbled, "Wes forgot to kiss Aria goodbye."

Her eyebrows shot up at that. "So you two chased us down?"

He shrugged. "Not my call," suddenly he was very close, his hands on her waist, his breath in her ear, warm and intriguing, "sorry 'bout this, but Wes made it clear it'd look weird if we didn't," and then his mouth was away from her ear and before she could even process what he meant, she felt warm lips against her own. It wasn't long, a few second perhaps, but neither was it chaste as his lips moved almost eagerly against hers and she found herself responding because it was so _nice. _

Soon, too soon, his mouth was at her ear again and he said quietly, a bit breathlessly, "thanks for making it convincing, I owe you." He pulled away, they pulled apart, and Maka went scarlet as she noticed that Wes and Aria had concluded their own personal business and were staring at them with nearly identical knowing smiles. For her part, Maka wasn't sure if the impulse to kiss or kill Soul's older brother was stronger at the moment, so she turned back to Soul, feigning a final hug to whisper in his ear, "damn right you do," before pulling away.

"Well, little brother, looks like we both had business here," Wes said with a devious smirk before breezing past, Soul trailing helplessly behind looking red and more than a little dazed. She blinked after him. Since she felt about how he looked, she figured it was fair. It wasn't until the little bell rang again that she realized he may have just given her her first real kiss, because she certainly didn't count what Black*Star did on a dare when they were eight, and she wondered, still a bit stunned, if this really did count since it had been given under brotherly coercion. It had felt so good, though, so electric, and her own feelings were so overwhelming, that somehow she thought it might and she wasn't sure if she should be elated because _Soul had just kissed her, _or utterly depressed that it was only for show.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a chuckle nearby. Aria was grinning at her, several bags in hand. "That good a kisser, eh? You look like you just got back from the moon." Maka colored at that and smiled sheepishly. Not sure of _what _to say, she opted to say nothing at all.

This was turning out to be a hell of a morning, and if the whole charade was going to have her head spinning every which way, she wasn't convinced she would survive the weekend. Pre-kishin had nothing on this.

An hour later, they were sitting in a small bridal salon in Stamford, tea and pastries laid out on a coffee table surrounded by plush little victorian couches. It was so quaint it was almost kitsch, but Maka liked it all the same. The proprietor, an aspiring bridal designer, was actually an old friend of Aria's, a girl she had met in high school and had somehow kept in touch with. As the bride explained earlier to Maka, realizing what designing for an "Evans" wedding could do for her old friend's prospects, Aria had insisted on using her for all the women's attire, much to Sophia's unhappiness. Sophia had yet to arrive, and Maka was currently seated amidst most of the bridal party waiting for the bride to be fitted and make her appearance. They were all women, of course, but their reasons for being there varied widely. Seated on the couch next to her were two cousins of Wes and Soul on the Evans side. Both girls appeared to be in their early twenties and had the same pale, watery-eyed look as their uncle. The taller of the two seemed shy, while the shorter was occasionally eying Maka with decided distaste while pointedly avoiding any conversation with her though they sat side by side. The other three women seated across from her were a college friend of both Wes and Aria, tall and fair with raven hair, and two of Aria's cousins, one dark skinned and one who had a decidedly asian cast to her features. The two cousins were chattering excitedly, in their own little world, while the college friend minded her tea and her business.

It was an odd group, and not being acquainted with any of them, the meister felt decidedly out of her element. Seated across from her, the college friend offered her an almost comforting smile, and Maka smiled back automatically. She was pretty sure Aria had mentioned she was a flautist for an acclaimed orchestra, but such things tended to go over her head, and with so much information being thrown at her so quickly, the generally meticulous meister had been unable to grasp the details she normally would have. She'd almost wished for a notebook, because this whole thing was feeling more and more like some sort of twisted field test.

"So, Maka, right?" The woman asked suddenly in her deep, rich voice, and Maka nodded. "I'm Genevieve. Aria and Wes have had so much to say about you and your husband. And he's really the Last Death Scythe! It was all over the papers after the moon went black. And you were really, truly there? Fighting-a monster, right? It all sounds so dangerous and frightening!"

"It-I mean," Maka took a deep breath, not quite having expected to have to discuss such painful memories. "It was difficult," she finally settled on.

"And you really are a warrior, then? You go into battle with-well, your husband turns into your weapon, that's what they say. Honestly, I'd never even heard of a human weapon before I met Wes, and then read about everything on the moon-it's all so fascinating! And to be friends with a living god! I've heard people go on about how Soul Evans was a fool to give up the piano and traipse off to God knows where, but honestly," the woman waved one elegant, long fingered hand dismissively, "one simply cannot compare being a concert pianist to saving the world. I, for one, believe he made the right choice. Most especially if it means he landed himself such an adorable wife! No wonder he ran off."

Maka had no idea how to respond, or even if she was expected to respond at all. The woman was very friendly, charming in an odd, intrusive way, and impossibly elegant and beautiful on top of it all. Her clothes, a red silk blouse and black pencil skirt accented with chunky gold jewellery, bespoke taste and wealth, but unlike what she had sensed from Soul's cousin, she did not feel disdain but real admiration from her wavelength. She was spared answering at all when she heard a gasp from the woman next to Genevieve, one of Aria's cousins, who had spun her head towards the main dressing room door. Maka followed suit and almost gasped herself at what she found.

Aria had come out and she looked absolutely stunning.

The dress had a beaded, fitted bodice, and was sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline. The skirt though, was puffy layers of tulle beaded through, sparkling and gorgeous. Aria looked like an absolute princess complete with crown-the dress suited her perfectly, and Maka found herself smiling because she was absolutely sure her husband would be floored. Then again, Wes would probably be floored if she walked down the aisle in a paper sack-they really did seem to love each other, and Maka couldn't help but to feel both thrilled for them and a little envious, because she wanted that, too. There was a time, not long ago, when she wouldn't have dreamt it possible, when the example her childhood set before her had soured her expectations and left her believing that love was a fantasy, a fairy tale that people told each other but that no one ever found. She had since changed her views, slowly, subtly, but even still, she knew what Wes and Aria had found was rare and precious.

Maka heard a soft sound like a snort next to her and moved her head slightly to notice Soul's two cousins speaking quietly to one another, their backs still pointedly turned to the bride who was being seen to by the designer near the dressing room door. The shy one would giggle slightly, then shake her head periodically.

"But really, she should have minded Aunt Sophie. To drag us to this-place," the bolder of the two wrinkled her nose, "when she might have had Vera design for her. It's comical. But what can one expect from someone so-common."

"She is a very fine cellist, though, you know, and Wes seems to like her," the other girl said, voice unsure.

"Well, it is better than some people have done, I'll admit," she said airily. "I mean, really, to wed some-some-_mercenary_, to go out fighting _monsters_, it truly is beyond belief. Then again, he always was an odd one. It's little wonder."

Maka had heard enough. To insult the bride-she had to force herself to calm. To insult herself, she could deal with. But to insult her weapon? Apparently, this girl needed to find out that insulting a _mercenary_ was never wise, to pretend like said mercenary wasn't seated right next to her on the couch was even more foolhardy, and to insult that mercenary's weapon was downright suicidal. She felt her fingers itching for a book that wasn't there and was about to try to _use her words_ when someone else used them for her.

"Oh, Lucretia, I hadn't noticed you there, so lovely to see you again," Genevieve addressed the shorter woman with practiced ease. "_Very_ daring of you to be sporting last season's dress, I might add. If you aren't careful, you'll start a trend."

"This-this isn't-" the blond began to sputter, indignant. Maka noticed that Aria's two cousins finally went quiet at this, their eyes turned to the other women, perhaps sensing a show, or perhaps worried for a brawl, who could say?

"I was sorry to hear that you were rejected by the philharmonic _yet again._ Really, they must be deaf," the woman across continued, purposefully oblivious to the mounting horror of the one she addressed.

Lucretia had gone scarlet with something like rage and Maka had to suppress her laughter because it was probably bad form to laugh at her 'husband's' cousin, even if she had been about to deck her only moments before.

"And Minerva, you're looking very well," Genevieve's smile became softer, more genuine as she turned to the quieter of the two. "I was sorry to miss your last concert, but I heard your harp was the talk of the show."

"Thank you," the taller blond offered softly as her sister stewed next to her, shooting her an indignant glare that made her wither slightly. Maka didn't have difficulty at all believing that this haughty girl was related to Alastair Evans. Mercifully, the exchange was cut short as the bride finally approached, the designer done fussing over her. She tilted her head, expression neutral.

"Well?" her eyes scanned the group expectantly.

"Oh, Aria, hun," Genevieve stood and sauntered over to her friend, grinning widely as she stopped before her. "It's _perfect._ Wes is going to positively faint!"

Aria matched her grin as the others all offered their approval, all save Lucretia who was notably silent, and Minerva who was always quiet. Aria's cousins, for their part, squealed in turn and forced her to make a circle, to show off the low cut back and flounce of the wide skirts. There was some chatter among the four of them along with the designer for a few minutes and Maka watched silently, feeling ill suited to partake of such a thing, before Aria finally put her hands on her hips to eye the group expectantly.

"Well, then, Emily, seeing as mine fits perfectly, we should probably check the others."

The mousy little brunette nodded, directing each woman to a dressing room before coming back to stand before Aria and Maka once more.

The woman, Emily apparently, eyed Maka speculatively for a moment, then took a measuring tape from one large skirt pocket and began to manhandle her. Maka squeaked at first, finding it rather intrusive, but said nothing, allowing the woman to work. Finally, she stepped back and nodded.

"Mmm, you were right, Ar, she's a 6, a solid 6, I have just the thing!" She was grinning widely, her face alight. "Be right back," she said happily and scuttled off into a door in the corner, leaving Maka and Aria standing alone in the center of the salon.

"You look, really pretty," Maka managed, feeling ridiculously out of her element. Aria smiled back happily.

"Thanks. And thanks again for doing this, I know it must be-"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off suddenly as Sophia Evans strode up to them with a loud "Aria, darling! You look radiant!" The woman swept into the room like a force of nature, her smile bright. She moved close to her daughter-in-law to be and greeted her with two light kisses on the cheek before doing the same to Maka, leaving the meister feeling even more odd and dazed. "I _know_ I was unhappy that you'd chosen your own designer, but really dear, she's done marvelous work. I daresay she'll make a name for herself quite soon. Even Jean Luc confided that he plans to use her for the Collins' wedding!"

"Oh, Sophia, that's fantastic! Em'll be ecstatic!" Aria looked so genuinely thrilled for her friend that Maka couldn't help but to smile, too.

"Speaking of Jean Luc," Sophia frowned. "Is he not here yet?"

"No, no, not-" Aria began, but then stopped as another presence swept in. The man was short, possibly not breaking five feet, and completely bald. He wore a lavender shirt with some sort of frill at the front and impossibly elegant, impossibly textured grey slacks. He looked both refined and absurd, and radiated an arrogance that Maka found immediately off putting. Nonetheless, she forced a smile as Sophia introduced the man, and endured his nauseating air kisses as well as his intrusive stare as he looked her up and down.

"My, my, Sophia, dear, you were spot on, the girl is very pretty, but _completely_ unrefined. Well. Looks like my work is cut out for me," he circled her, taking out a small, silk covered notebook from Death knew where to jot down notes with a fancy gold pen. "Cool colors, certainly, though clearly she looks good in red as well. Dark colors suit, no pastels certainly, soft fabrics. You say she needs something to fight in as well?" Sophia nodded and Maka frowned, what was this now? "Mmm. Nasty business, but I think I can manage. I've requested some footage, it should help. Yes, yes, and practical shoes for that," he made a face. "Though, based on that picture you forwarded me, we can't possibly do _worse._ Alright, then," he put his notebook away and tilted his head at her for a moment, considering.

"I assume she'll need measurements for the dress, so make sure those get sent along, shoe size as well, if you please. I should have some things ready by Friday, definitely something for the rehearsal, more for Sunday, and anything else can be sent along to Nevada, if it must," he made a face that exhibited some note of distaste at that. For her part, Maka was becoming more and more indignant. Who did this man think he was, speaking about her as if she weren't _right there_? Was this some, what, wealthy blue blood thing, to ignore people? It was infuriating. She was about to speak her mind, to protest that she didn't need all of this and she certainly wouldn't be dressed without her consent like some, some _doll_, when the man simply nodded to Sophia.

"Well, then, I must be off, but I think we can definitely make a Cinderella out of this one. Be sure to call me with those measurements. I look forward to Friday!" And then, as quickly he had come he was gone, and Maka was left flustered and irritated with no one to vent her spleen on but Soul's mother and Aria, who was sporting a knowing smile.

"That was-that-" Maka stammered. Aria laughed at that, but Sophia nodded and smiled.

"Isn't he _marvelous?_" she breathed. "Just wait, you're going to _adore_ whatever he comes up with. Trust me!"

As seemed to be a pattern today, before Maka could even consider responding, Emily breezed back in holding a zippered garment bag over one shoulder.

"Well, then, shall we?" she offered, and led the still stunned meister into one of the small rooms along the wall, Sophia and Aria staying behind and chatting idly.

"Well, then, Maka," the woman smiled at her as she closed the door behind her. "It's lucky you're a common sample size, even luckier I've got the _perfect_ dress for you. Honestly, it's what I would have suggested had I all the time in the world." She had hung the bag on a hook and began unzipping it, revealing a splash of white and royal blue. She removed the dress from the bag and the meister couldn't help it, she smiled. It was beautiful, with a royal blue bodice and short, flouncy, sheer white skirt, along with sheer little white cap sleeves. The other woman looked to Maka expectantly, and she suddenly realized why-she would need to strip down to try it on.

She began to remove her things and, finally left in a bra and panties, Emily made a noise in her throat.

"You'll need to remove the bra too, for now. I think you can get away without it anyway."

"Oh, right then," Maka said, embarrassed, as she unclasped the bra. The shorter woman immediately handed her the dress and Maka stepped into it, Emily zipping the back for her and making a pleased hum.

"Yes, yes, it's perfect!" Skeptical, because while the dress had been lovely on the hanger, few things were so nice on, Maka turned her eyes to the full length mirror and shook her head because surely, the girl she saw wasn't her. The dress fit like a glove, accentuating her small curves and her long limbs. If one ignored the occasionally darker line of a scar along her arms and legs, she almost looked pretty.

"You don't like it?" Emily frowned from just behind her in the mirror.

"Oh, no, it's very pretty!" Maka said quickly, not wanting to upset the designer. "I'm just-not used to wearing this type of thing, is all."

"Oh!" The woman laughed as she walked closer and began pulling at the fabric as she circled her, "well, you'll have to get used to it if you're an Evans!" She continued to walk around her, pinning here and there and jotting down notes in a little book.

Maka shook her head again. "Soul and I, well, we don't have much occasion for-I mean-"

"That's right, Ar mentioned your husband doesn't really get on well with his parents. That's a shame," she said as she continued to work.

"He has his reasons," Maka couldn't help but to defend.

"Mmm," she hummed. "I'm sure. Well, alright then. I think I'll need to take the bust in the tiniest bit, but it fits well otherwise. Go show Aria and I'll see to everyone else, then."

With a slight nod to herself, the designer left to see to the other women, and Maka trailed after shortly. As she emerged, she saw each of the women in her own royal blue gown and almost gasped. They all looked so-so-perfect. Each had a gown to suit her, each was a vision, and Maka felt plain and gangly beside so much elegance. The eyeroll and whisper of Lucretia did not go unnoticed as she stood with her sister and aunt in a mid length, short, slinky number, but it was quickly replaced in her vision by Aria, who stood before her with a broad grin, still a vision herself in her stunning dress.

"Oh, Maka love, it's perfect!" she clapped her hands together once happily, her eyes moving to the designer, who was busily flitting about Genevieve.

"Mmm, told you I had somthing, Ar. It only needs a bit of taking in, shouldn't be an issue. But you," she turned her eyes back to Genevieve, "did _not_ mention you were planning on growing out your assets!"

Maka turned her eyes to the tall woman and noticed the issue. Her reasonably endowed breasts were definitely straining against the fabric of her long, sleek gown. Genevieve practically pouted.

"I _did_ tell you I was on hormone treatments! The initial fitting was _two years_ ago. They were bound to grow!" she protested.

Emily sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You did. I just didn't realize they'd-grow so much, I guess. Well, it can't be helped, I'll take new measurements and figure it out."

Hormones-grow out-what now? Did that mean? Ah.

Suddenly, Maka's respect for Aria and Wes went up another notch, their acceptance of difference, their embracing of others stacking up along with their good will and good humor to make her think that whatever Soul might lack in a father, he was more than compensated for by a brother, and soon, a sister who clearly cared for him and others, a brother and a sister to be proud of, and she found herself sorry that they were not truly her family. Not for the first time, the meister wished she were married to her weapon in truth, internally mourning the reality that her carriage would soon enough become a pumpkin once more.


End file.
